


you're all i see in the dark

by passionesque



Series: everbright [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionesque/pseuds/passionesque
Summary: This is just a short companion piece toalthough i was burning, you're the only light. It's just the POV of 6 different characters throughout the games. Or basically, what Clato is seen like from other viewpoints.
Relationships: Cato & Clove (Hunger Games), Cato/Clove (Hunger Games)
Series: everbright [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572304
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	you're all i see in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to write this _months_ ago so here we are! I've finally gotten the time _and_ motivation to attempt writing in others' POV and it's been really interesting and fun. Plus, I'll try to complete this within the month! Enjoy!

**\- Enobaria -**

At first glance, her tributes for this year’s Games aren’t much. 

She doesn’t think too much about them. They’re District Two. What else is there to say?

In typical fashion, they would be volunteers, cocky and arrogant and so goddamn sure of their abilities that will lead them to victory. They’ll be trained, well-versed in killing and inflicting pain, all with the only goal to bring pride and glory to their district. 

Enobaria will strongly admit to having been one of them. Until she’d become a Victor. _That’s_ when the illusion had faded and harsh reality set in. If only everyone actually knew what lay behind the outrageous outfits and opulent surroundings was a gilded cage with no way out.

She’d watched the Reaping on screen with little to no interest, sure that her tributes would be carbon copies of the previous year’s volunteers.

But that all changes when she sees them in person.

Clove and Cato.

She’s heard of them, knows of their infamy—of the blond’s violent temper, of the girl’s lust for blood, and that they’re ranked first in their respective years. She knows right from the start that Cato is who they planned to send for the Games this year. But Clove, on the other hand, is a surprise. The girl is only supposed to volunteer next year in the Quarter Quell. So, really, what the actual fuck happened to this year’s female volunteer? In fact, Enobaria is certain she’s not the only one taken aback when there isn’t a volunteer to take Clove’s place.

Regardless, Enobaria is more than sure there will be a Victor from their district this year once more.

But what she doesn’t expect is how silent and sullen the pair are as the train lurches, beginning its annual journey to the Capitol. She sits back in her chair, studying the pair who are acting nothing like their predecessors. Instead of being all triumphant and smug-like, they look as if they’ve been condemned to be avoxes.

She stares at the boy. With how morosely quiet he is, it is a huge juxtaposition to how he’d volunteered and behaved at the Reaping less than an hour ago. Eyes fixed on the lush carpeting at his feet, he stays silent, barely even moving in his seat. Even so, she isn’t fooled. She can see the murderous rage he’s famous for lingering beneath his skin. What he’s mad about, she doesn’t know. But as long as his volatile temper doesn’t affect their reputations or angers the Capitol, Enobaria doesn’t quite give a fuck.

Gaze shifting towards Clove, she almost makes a face at how short the brunette actually is and how _young_ she looks. But recalling her file, Clove can’t be younger than sixteen, despite her very youthful countenance. Despite that, she sees a certain gleam in those dark eyes, reminding her that even though this girl may look like an underdog, she’d been often coined a sociopath by most of the trainers in the Academy.

Things take a turn for the worse when Enobaria realises that both her tributes aren’t strangers or even friendly rivals, but _friends_ —best friends. It doesn’t help that she notices the subtle looks the blond sends to his best friend when the brunette isn’t looking. 

She feels a small stirring of pity in her cold dead heart because she knows where this path is going and it certainly isn’t a happy ending.

Still, Enobaria closes an eye (and sometimes both) when she sees more longing and wistful glances or other exchanges and interactions that don’t quite fit the model roles of tributes from District Two.

And yet, there is something about the pair that draws her attention, something that makes her unable to turn away.

From what she knows and has seen, both Cato and Clove are clearly polar opposites. Be it their appearance, their behaviour, their usual demeanour and personalities, they are the literal definition of the word. But when they’re together, all their different conflicting edges fit perfectly

It should be a crime how they’re so in tune with each other.

And of course, Enobaria doesn’t know why she’s surprised when Clove is terribly antagonistic whenever there is mention of the female tribute from One—Glimmer.

She doesn’t drop hints to Cato that his feelings are reciprocated. Instead, she decides on pretending to have no knowledge of anything. It isn’t any of her business, she tells herself and continues training and guiding them as though they were ordinary tributes even knowing that one of them would be dead within weeks.

Enobaria lets them have dessert; some circular-shaped custard looking pastry that she has a hard time digesting when the Games are in _two fucking days._

Still, she ignores the smug glances of Cashmere and Gloss or how useless her fellow Mentor is, she focuses on ensuring that her tributes have the highest chances of survival even though District Twelve is being such a pain in her ass this time round.

And no, it certainly doesn’t matter how her pair isn’t awarded with the highest scores, or how _fucking Peeta Mellark_ has thrown everything into a loop because of his shitty attention-grabbing scheme that the Capitol had fallen for.

She seethes in her seat as Cato begins throwing a huge tantrum in the privacy of their apartment. Clove is still, wide eyes fixed on the hated sight of that stupid boy who clearly thought having some fake unrequited crush sob story would give them sympathy votes.

Enobaria swears, violently, she might add because she just knows it’s Abernathy who has to be behind this. Hadn’t the drunken fool won the Games by sheer chance and not by skill all those years ago? It’s just a shame she doesn’t have the chance to wrap her fingers around his neck, to sink her fangs into his jugular, tearing out his throat, leaving his alcohol-soaked body to wither away and die.

But no matter, she is utterly confident Cato and Clove could take Twelve, to grind their bones into dust, to make them _bleed._

* * * * *

She watches attentively as the countdown starts. 

It’s just their fucking rotten luck that her pair are situated far from each other, but whatever, the Bloodbath would show that their superior in all ways that count. She smirks at Clove’s expression when she notices a pack of knives at the Cornucopia while Cato scans his surroundings eagerly, no doubt itching to kill.

Unsurprisingly, the Bloodbath is brutal.

She leans back in her seat, ignoring Gloss’ unsubtle whispers and Cashmere’s fidgeting or how Johanna Mason is yawning. Finnick Odair is silent, observing the fights and bloodshed as though it’s the morning news. Though, he does flinch when Cato lands the killing blow to his male tribute. However, she notices Abernathy watching intently, the lines on his weathered face more pronounced than ever while his fingers twitch.

Enobaria would’ve been an idiot not to hear the harsh exhale of his breath when Fire Bitch manages to escape Clove’s grip before vanishing into the treelines. 

Under her breath, she curses the blatant mistakes the pair makes and how they could’ve eliminated most of the threats within thirty minutes. But with how they had each other’s backs; the protectiveness of Cato and the murderous rage of Clove whenever someone wants to harm her other half does spark some comments from the other Mentors. 

It isn’t often when Careers from the same district work in tandem like hers.

Enobaria resists reacting or giving any comments.

But she does curse violently when the Tracker Jacker Incident occurs. Cato missing the killing blow to end Mellark is such an amateur mistake that she literally hisses and longs to throttle him. But she wouldn’t lie that she isn’t relieved when they both make it out alive due to her getting a cure for the venom from sucking up to Sponsors.

And of course, she snorts when Clove is predictably delighted upon finding out Glimmer is dead. The brunette’s eyes positively sparkle with vindictive glee, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Cashmere who mutters a derisive slur. She ignores that but is able to commiserate with Gloss about how stupid the boys are at chucking all their supplies among bombs. She’s proven right when Fire Bitch blows everything up with one fucking goddamn arrow.

Despite being a Career herself, she does enjoy the sight of Cashmere and Gloss’ reactions when both their tributes are gone whereas hers are still standing. Enobaria can proudly say she’s the only Career Mentor left who has both her tributes. District Two has always been the superior district and this year’s games drive home the point even more.

Yet, with Marvel’s death, she feels a certain sense of grief because she knows it will not be long before either Cato and Clove are gone and sent home in a wooden crate.

But with the announcement of that fucking miraculous rule amendment, she might as well have kissed fucking Haymitch Abernathy because she knows it has to be _him_ that has pulled the strings for it to happen. She doesn’t know how he’s managed it but she’s immensely glad and relieved because now, her tributes have a fair fighting chance to go home _together._

Watching her pair go back and forth over every single thing is tiring as fuck but so very rewarding especially when she can tell things will develop. Sure enough, they do and Johanna Mason makes a crude remark at the kiss that appears on screen.

Smugly, Enobaria does throw a smirk over her shoulder at Abernathy because District Twelve isn’t the only district that has star-crossed lovers.

Abernathy’s features tighten with something that looks like dismay and fury.

That _look_ is a fucking goddamn reprieve from the following horrors that she has to see on screen. She almost yells in absolute rage at Clove’s goddamn stupidity at dragging and taunting Fire Bitch when Eleven is nearby. What happened to going straight for the kill? And how the fuck could Clove forget that this year’s games aren’t as simple as those in the past when there are contestants like Everdeen and Mellark?

Enobaria swears violently and Finnick Odair gives her a look she can’t quite decipher. 

But she ignores it, all in favour of enjoying how Cato comes to the rescue and crushes Eleven brutally without remorse. His infamous volatile temper is displayed for all to see and she sinks back against her seat with pride and vindication. Her lips curve and she absolutely delights in the way the other Mentors look away from the violent sight.

It brings back memories of the fear and respect she’d been given when she won the Games all those years ago.

Once again, her tributes show what their district is capable of, that they are better in every way (for the most part, notwithstanding their fucking idiotic mistakes) because what exactly is Mellark doing right now? Hiding and nursing a wound her tribute had given him weeks ago.

Pathetic.

When the finale draws nearer, the sky rapidly turning into inky blackness, painting shadows everywhere in the Arena, she leans closer, gut churning with anticipation because this is _it._ After tonight, they’ll be crowned and all of them could go home and of course, she’d be known as the Mentor of the first pair of Victors in the entire history of Panem.

She watches gleefully and satisfactorily when the pair from Twelve are finally dead. She wouldn’t lie though. Seeing the mercy that Clove gives towards them at the end startles her, takes her back by surprise because for as long as she can remember, it’d been the girl who’d hated the tributes from Twelve the most.

But whatever. She waits for the announcement declaring both Cato and Clove as Victors, for the holocraft to take them away from the Arena because they’ve done it. They’ve overcome the overwhelming odds stacked against them right from the start. 

What happens next causes her stomach to drop and for the breath to be knocked out from her lungs.

Of course, _of-fucking-course_ the Capitol would do that revokement. There will always be _one_ winner. One and only one. 

Why has she not seen this coming? 

Anger, hot and furious, pulse through her veins and she digs her nails into her palms, ignoring the sting because she cannot—she _refuses_ to see the outcome of this fucking twisted ending. She _cannot_ see the fallout of either of her tributes killing each other. Not after everything. 

But for the life of her, Enobaria is unable to turn away from the screen.

The sight of Clove dragging her blade across her neck isn’t what she expects and Enobaria springs to her feet, her mouth working uselessly because that _cannot_ be happening. 

_“If she dies, I die! The minute she stops breathing, I’ll end myself here and now and you won’t get your fucking winner!”_ Cato is screaming his head off, clutching onto Clove’s limp bleeding body and all she can do is stare in shock, her jaw hanging off its hinges.

Her body tenses when he reaches for his sword and _surely not,_ she thinks distantly because this really cannot be how it’s going to play out. But what she’s seeing _is_ reality when Cato shifts his grip on the handle, aiming the gleaming tip of the weapon at his gut. 

Around her, everyone is silent and it feels like no one dares to make a sound or even _breathe._

Cato withdraws his arm and—

The screen goes black. 

The next thing she knows, the room is in chaos as Peacekeepers barge through the door, their weapons aimed at all of their heads. 

* * * * *

“They’re alive.” 

_For now._

Enobaria doesn’t miss the unspoken words as she stares cooly at the well-groomed man dressed sharply in a black suit with clean utilitarian lines.

“Keep them in line,” he continues smoothly. “Make that star-crossed lover story work. I don’t think anyone wants to know what happens should the public not buy it. Don’t you agree? After all, the fallout can be... _catastrophic.”_

She nods, ignoring the sliver of fear that shoots down her spine while withholding a thousand possible answers (where most are antagonistic retorts) and keeps her eyes lowered to the ground until President Snow’s representative is good and gone. Finally alone, she sags against the wall and inhales shakily, flicking her tongue against her cosmetically-enhanced teeth.

She can do this. 

As long as Clove and Cato play their parts.

Making her way to the medical ward where they’re keeping Clove who has yet to awaken from her medically-induced coma, it isn’t a surprise to see the tribute’s blond shadow at her side. Enobaria doesn’t say a word, but simply snatches the datapad hanging off the rack and skims through Clove’s vitals.

Under the pretense of reading, she darts her eyes upwards towards Cato, marvelling at the sheer fact the blond had threatened the Capitol and gotten away with it. Though, she wouldn’t deny that there is apprehension too along with the admiration.

“If Clove dies, I die.”

Enobaria stiffens but snaps back the datapad to its original place. “That won’t happen,” she says firmly. “Clove’s surgery went well and you’re ninety-eight percent back to normal.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Cato’s voice may have been scratchy and hoarse but there is no mistaking the accusation ringing through the air.

She presses her lips into a thin line and crosses her arms. “The Capitol has assured me that you’ll both be fine as long as you cooperate. Do you understand that?”

A sharp jerky nod is all she gets in return.

Upon leaving the room, she halts in her movements at the sight of the District Four Mentor leaning against the wall, waiting for her. 

“What the fuck do you want?” she demands, eyeing Finnick Odair's sombre countenance and the lack of his customary shit-eating grin.

“I have a proposition if you’re willing to hear me out,” he begins grimly.

She blinks once and follows him.


End file.
